Starshipped Kigo
by Love Robin
Summary: In the 24th Century the Fates see a theme revisited. This is the story of a cadet who can do anything and the Vulcan at her side. A relationship as strong as that between humans and Vulcans, Kigo will grow. T'Kigo Maybe a 1-shot, maybe not…
1. No One in Charge

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Kim Possible or any of the related characters or property. They are owned by Disney and Mark McCorkle and Bob Schooley. Star Trek and related characters or property was created by Gene Roddenberry and now owned by Paramount. The treatment of these **descendants** of Kim Possible and Company, and any new characters, property, or technology shown or mentioned belong to me and can not be used without permission. Okay?

**Starshipped Kigo  
**System of Command

Chapter One – _No One in Charge_

_During the Dominion War  
_---------------------------------

The announcement hung suspended in the air along with the thick clouds of ash, particulate debris, and who-knew-what leaks. All that and the red emergency-power lighting was not enough to hide stunned and frightened faces from each other.

"… _I… I think all the other bridges are gone… ."_

That whispered statement continued to echo about the cabin, or was it only between her ears? While the softest sound in the room, it somehow drowned out the myriad buzzes, beeps, and alarms each demanding attention from _someone_ if not their designated operators.

Kimber Leann Possible, fourteen year old Starfleet Cadet First Year, was just as shocked as the rest of her cadet class, the only ones moving in the Secondary Auxiliary Bridge. Battle damage was everywhere. A fallen brace lay atop the sole officer among them, pinning him underneath dead or unconscious. No one moved as the import of those words burned into their skins faster than the now slightly acidic air. They were like deer caught in a skimmer's headlights, or that Vulcan plant which used a form of telepathy to make victims walk docilely into reach of poisoned tentacles. Each saw their own mortality reflected in the burnt and smudged faces of their fellows, all the fun of being the youngest cadets ever to draw duty on a starship drained out of their stinging eyes. Those not sitting stood braced against the tilted artificial gravity which made the ship feel as if listing heavily to starboard.

All left upright were cadets with ages ranging from eighteen of Senior Year down to those of First Year, including Kimber – the youngest ever allowed into the academy almost a year ago at the age of thirteen. Due to the urgency presented by the Dominion War none younger ever in the history of Starfleet were either enrolled in the Academy or serving aboard Active Duty Starships.

One by one all heads turned to the sole remaining upright individual wearing a regular Starfleet uniform, the only midshipman among them.

Traditionally a handful of top performing cadets are offered the additional privilege of midshipman duties aboard starships and starbases during holiday vacations and off-season breaks. Midshipmen wear the full uniform of Starfleet with only a single hollow pip on the collar ranking them above crewmen but below ensigns. As an additional perk Midshipmen are allowed to bring the rest of their Quad with them, which is how Kim ended up aboard the ill-fated convoy's flagship, _USS Fairlight_, with the rest of her roommates. Through the smoke and fumes she barely picked them out.

Academy cadets are assigned into groups of four to perform various non-classroom tasks together as well as share a four bedroom suite in preparation for the vagaries of future starship rooming assignments; 'quad' referring to both suite and squad. The only apparent rhyme and reasoning to the groupings was they included one each from the Engineering and Science career tracks, and two of Command to learn the dynamics between CO and Exec. Supposedly deeper motivations existing behind the choices were MaPED by the Med and Psyche Evaluation Department.

One voice rang clear and strong, full of authority and cutting above the insistent alarms and chimes, "Get communications back! Get damage reports excluding all but weapons, shields, sensors and Engineering. I want visual! I don't care if someone has to go EVA with macronoculars, I want to know what's going on out there!"

Everyone remained frozen for a bit until, "_NOW_ people‼ This is no drill, no longer practice! This bridge is now LIVE, _so move it!"_ and with that last bark even Kimber turned to the console immediately in front of her, working to coax something intelligible from it.

Similar to the personnel Chain of Command there existed a _System of Command_ for starship operations in the event the Main Bridge module was lost or disabled. Depending upon the class and configuration of the ship, key systems would shift command functions to the next available bridge, which if present would be the Flag Bridge. Not all starships had one which is why _flagship _proceeded the name of some ships and not others. Unlike the setup of an auxiliary bridge, a flag bridge was the complete duplicate of the Main, existing in parallel to track and guide the movement of all ships assigned it. Yet it was fully capable of assuming the flagship's operations should the need arise.

Next was the Battle Bridge, which was present only in ships with separable hulls, but could also be fully functional for the entire ship even when whole. Finally came the Auxiliary Bridges, of which was one for each hull section. Thus the full SoC as applied to bridges went: Main» Flag» Battle» Auxiliary» Auxiliary(2).

It was common to set the last auxiliary bridge in simulator mode and populate it with midshipmen and cadets, allowing them to monitor feeds from the active bridge. Their responses would later be compared, evaluated, graded, and critiqued to the Nth degree first by the ship's Executive Officer, then endlessly later in classes. With the levels of redundancies inherent to the SoC there would be plenty of time to clear out the students and reset the 'Practice Bridge' long before it would ever need to go live.

_At least that had been the idea…_

Bodies moved in all directions to fill orders that gave them something to focus on other than their own fears. Soon shouts of status began to fill the air and within moments regular lighting was restored. Eventually ensigns and higher ranked officers began to dash in and out on errands somehow important to keeping them all alive. Each took notice of the midshipman at the Main Console – auxiliary bridges not having center command chairs – but were too busy with their own duties to make an issue over rank and the CoC.

Rona Stop of Trill, also in Kim's Quad, moved amid the beehive of fearful activity administering what treatment she could muster from the meager Medical Cadet's bag on her hip. Kim's ever sharp eyes took note of the triage that the slight built blond youth put into practice, a corner of her mind taking note that even under these tense conditions she remained in female character. Rona was a boy, but the Stop symbiont insisted on asserting its last host's gender – female – on him, and thus why he acted and dressed as a girl. Quick as a Trill _zipbird_ she flitted from one person to another, hovering only long enough for a quick spray of dermal bandaging as needed and saving her limited doses of pain-killers for those most in need. She hardly paused at all at the side of the pinned officer, which was a bad sign.

"I reestablished audio with the fleet's command channel!" T'Shego's voice cut clearly from Ops & Communications. The only Goth Vulcan – _ever_ – was the leader of Kimber's Quad, being ahead of her in both age and grade.

Kimber glanced her way expecting the usual hard sneer of superiority, disdain and underlying jealousy that was the upperclassman's trademark expression. Due to an eidetic memory the redhead's grades were always top marks, something the elder cadet held against her without hiding. Feeling threatened she spared no opportunity to belittle and downgrade the younger to the point of persecution. So much so Kim could bring her up on charges; see her disciplined and possibly discharged from the academy.

Yet even if Kim took the steps within her legal rights, she herself risked becoming a pariah among not only the students but many well seasoned personnel throughout the fleet as an unspoken rule against snitching on your fellow officer existed. So she swallowed it all down, shouldering every indignant remark and task Cadet Senior T'Shego heaped her way without comment, if not without resentment. To be fair, Kim was jealous of the senior quadmate in return. Not for grades or anything academic, but because of her poise and exotic looks. The pale-green skin she exhibited, which was the Vulcan version of albinism, was enhanced by the severe black makeup of the Goth look she adopted which alone made her unique among her people even without a temper worthy of a Romulan.

However when T'Shego looked up, the usual snarky look was gone from her face, replaced instead with the same borderline panic shared by them all. It was a fear of dying mixed with needing someone to tell them what to do. A heartbeat later a weak smile graced her face as she flicked her head, tossing very long raven-colored tresses back over a shoulder, clearing a pointed ear and revealing the earpiece lodged in it.

A babel of confused and excited voices blared out of the bridge's unseen loudspeakers. Kimber heard them frantically over-talking and ignoring each other as contradictory commands flew back and forth.

"_QUIET__‼"_ the Calm Voice spoke again as if standing beside her, this time with an even sharper air of command.

Just like that, silence reigned on the channel. Or at least the voices fell silent. Alarms echoed back and forth across the link as if mating calls in answer of those about her. "All ships report status on the data channel, with weapons, sensors and mobility top priority. Is there anyone in a position to encapsulate the last five minutes in forty words or less?"

The silence extended momentarily before a chorus of _"Who is this"_ and related type queries rang out with at least one _"It's the Flagship!"_ in the mix. Still, Kim picked out the few that responded without question. From them she pieced together a rough picture to supplement her own knowledge of events over the past sub-point-stardate.

The fleet of a dozen ships had been assigned to provide escort and protection to a convoy of civilian ships fleeing the latest system to fall to the wave of Dominion forces. Not even Dominion Allies; Cardassia had already been turned upon and C. Prime fallen in ashes. Just pure Jem Had'ar. It was a genocide as they were wiping out all 'solids', a move of desperation since the Bajoran Wormhole was closed to them, preventing the arrival of Gamma Quadrant reinforcements.

Everything proceeded routinely until from out of nowhere overwhelming Dominion ships rained upon them at high warp speeds. In seconds the initial wave ripped through and nearly decimated the convoy. Smaller Jem Had'ar scoutships kamikazed into the larger Starfleet and Federation vessels, punching through shields like tissue paper without necessarily dropping them. The _Fairlight_ itself rocked several times. Power blinked off until the emergencies kicked in.

A fresh wave of discordant voices washed over the command channel as overlapping duplicate reports about the _Fairlight's _condition began to ring out:

"_My God! The saucer is almost completely gone!" "… Bridge Module missing…" "…port nacelle heavily venting…" "…missing its bridge…" "….shields down to 10%…" "…know ho__w they're e__ven operatio… ."_

Even as Kimber took in it all in, her mind's eye constructing a picture of how the others saw them, the modest sized mainscreen flickered to life. T'Shego declared, "I got visual!"

Again all eyes turned to a common focal point, this time to successive images of the crippled _Fairlight_ as fed to them by the other ships in the fleet via the data sub-channel. The _Ambassador_-class vessel was in as poor a shape as the overheard snippets indicated. The Main and Flag Bridges obviously gone with the entire dorsal side of the saucer practically totaled. Over half the decks were clearly open to vacuum with a scattering of crew moving about under cover of emergency environmental fields. Bodies and debris floated everywhere. The port nacelle strut was badly twisted; what at first looked like a not too serious off-center cant, closer examination revealed the nacelle had nearly completed a three-sixty degree rotation. A dense cloud of Bussard-detritus billowing from just behind its collector cap. From the malfunctioning artificial gravity her inner ear insisted the ship was way off balance, as if hanging by a thread improperly counter-weighted. All along the hull small explosions bloomed and sparked with a rhythm that made sense only to themselves.

Flickering points of light moved lazily against the starfield backdrop; enemy ships computer flagged and enhanced, working to loop back from their ultra-high warp pass for another strafing run to finish them off. At those speeds even though it took them longer to maneuver, it would not be nearly long enough.

Obviously the visual connection was two-way because the image wavered, replaced by a now grungy-looking Lt Commander at least five to seven times her age, his temples and sideburns silver. "Wait! That's an _auxiliary bridge!_ Who the devil's in command over there?" All along the screen's edge, smaller windows opened as each ship hooked into the feed vied to remain in the loop.

Kimber felt herself stand and brush back hair from her face. Shock. She had to be in shock. Ignoring the blood on her hand as it dropped back, she took a step forward. The same clear, calm, collected voice which had called order from chaos among her classmates sounded in her ear. This time she was surprised to finally realize it came from her own lips.

"Midshipman Kimber Leann Possible; Acting Captain, _Flagship USS Fairlight."_

"_Midshipman? _No, really, go back to your nap little girl and put your _daddy_ on the line!" the Lt Commander scoffed derisively. A few nervous snickers could be heard across the channel. He started to turn away.

"T'Shego, put up the ship with the best long-range sensors still intact," the redhead not only stood her ground, but completely ignored the gibe, "Preferably the one that has the enemy ships computer tagged." Respect flickered across more than half of the faces in the smaller panes, one of which was zoomed to the center of the screen.

"The _Paul Revere_," T'Shego informed.

Kim took in the barely composed junior grade lieutenant on a battle bridge. His expression matched the ones on her classmates behind her. "How soon until the first of those ships has an effective firing solution?"

"Now see here…," the older Lt Commander began from his reduced pane, but was silenced when Kim gestured for the goth to mute his link. Respect on more faces, especially on the _Revere's_ Jr Lieu, "Computer estimates two-seventy-five seconds."

_Four minutes thirty-five seconds_. "Listen up _Revere_, for the next four minutes and twenty seconds _your_ _sole_ _job_ is a countdown on time and distance. If something changes to lessen it, the call-code is _Buttercup_. Understand?" Even as he nodded the Vulcan reduced him back to the border panels. His voice became a rhythmic cadence among the rest of the chatter.

The raging face of the silenced officer was returned to prominence at Kim's nod. She noted how smoothly the Vulcan was taking her cues. Neither recognized it at that time, but their roles had forever swapped; Kimber was now the quad leader and T'Shego quad deputy. Another gesture restored his link's audio.

"…ot taking orders fro… ," the Lt Commander's rant suddenly halted as the midshipman, in the cool tone usually cultivated only after years of command experience, rattled off a series of numbers divided into Articles, Sections and Paragraphs. "What did you say? What was…?"

"That, commander, is what I will tell either your Board of Inquiry, or Court Martial Hearing, depending upon the next ten seconds." She definitely had his attention, and an excellent view of the whites of his eyes.

"You don't have the author… ."

"It defines the role of the flagship and the inter-fleet System of Command during wartime situations. As long as _this_ bridge has all of your prefixes locked and loaded, I assure you that I do. I do, and I shall spend the rest of my life – which I have considerable more of than you – seeing that your career is ruined if you don't _shut up!"_ Basic Command 101: _Hesitant in charge is _NOT _in charge_. Regardless of rank, a GOOD officer will follow orders given with confidence.

"I don't recognize your… ."

"Time's up. You are relieved." She looked around him and settled upon the next most composed face. "You there. You have the Conn." Then she located two more in the background, "Security, by the power granted me by the articles just quoted, place the Commander under arrest. Don't bother taking time removing him from the bridge unless he becomes unmanageable." She turned her back upon the re-silenced scene, giving her orders the weight of expectation by fact of not granting the ability to argue them. An imperceptible nod from T'Shego confirmed they were being carried out. "Give me a revolving three-dee tactical view of the fleet and convoy."

By the time she turned around the mainscreen was replaced with what she asked for. From the choppiness of the rendering she figured that it was compiled from the feeds of several of the other ships. It rotated as her mind raced for the next solution. She closed her eyes to better facilitate picturing new configurations of the information.

"Two-forty," from _Paul Revere_.

_Got it!_

Eyes flew open. "All ships listen here," she grabbed a laser-pointer off her console and used it to drag-and-drop icons on the tactical board, "You have ninety seconds to either get into the following positions or abandon ship to the closest vessel, fleet or convoy. Ships that can, slap tractors on each other if you need. Abandon call code is _Jubilee_. It is imperative you take the position indicated for your ship, making sure to rotate your attitudes to present your strongest shields to the outside.

"T'Shego, delegate a ship to forward and watchdog the new formation for the civvies." She tapped her commbadge, "Bridge to Engineering."

"Engineering." Kimber was surprised to see the dirty and smudged blonde blue-eyed face of Tara Starr, the fourth member of her quad, appear on screen. _She's in Auxiliary Engineering_, but of course with the extensive damage to the saucer it made sense.

"Five second status report."

Despite her haggard look she giggled, "No phasers. Torpedo tube four: one definite shot, more iffy. Shields ten percent and failing. Warp drive offline, port nacelle should be jettisoned. Impulse one-hundred percent which can be pushed to a burst of _relativistic_ _warp_ _one_ for sixty seconds at best. Transporters inoperative except for Cargo Three. Life support critical. ODN out decks zero through thirteen. Extensive hull breaches."

"Pop the nacelle. I saw environmental fields in effect all over the ship. See to it all affected areas but engineering, sickbay, and this bridge are evacuated, then cut those fields. Set as many torpedoes as you can to proximity, slap tags on them, and have the best transporter operator you can find man TR/C3. It is now a_ depth charge_ launcher."

Tara nodded and cut the link even as another Vulcan, this one sporting commodore pips, took her place on the screen, "The maneuver is both ineffective and illogical. You are placing the least damaged, more capable, and better armed vessels inside the formation." _Shit_. If that Lt Commander was five times her age, the Commodore was easily ten or twelve times, and higher in rank to boot! His comm-ID showed he was on a flag bridge. _He_ probably would be in charge had the SoC not stopped with the _Fairlight's_ AuxTwo bridge.

_Paul Revere:_ "Two-ten."

Kim straightened her back as much as she could to muster the most height out of her stature. "Since a question from both a commodore and a Vulcan carries considerable weight, I shall answer your concern. When battle is unavoidable, never allow your opponents to see your strongest hand," _Actually, that was poker._ Not that she ever played it herself, she had only watched her Uncle Slim a few times while he was supposedly babysitting her.

"Our primary mission objective is to protect the civilian convoy," she continued, "and if _any_ of us are to live past the next ten minutes it is vital that the Jem Ha'dar think they have us declawed and helpless…

"_Will I have to relieve you as well?"_

His response was to lift an eyebrow and minutely incline his head before relinquishing the screen's center stage. When the tactical returned, nearly all the ships had pulled into the formation she wanted, stragglers being tractored into place. In short order a cone took shape around the convoy with only one code Jubilee requiring adjustment to cover the resultant gap.

Giving herself a generous two seconds to center herself by taking and holding a breath, Kimber noticed several smiles on the faces of her cadets. The largest was on T'Shego's. While she had seen it many times before, a smiling Vulcan was always unsettling…

"What's the sitch?"

The pale-green woman grinned wider and shook her head. She cupped her earpiece, "It's what the fleet is calling you."

"What are they calling me?"

"Supposedly it started first in a tirade by your indignant Lt Commander, but has since been picked up and repeated along the secondary channels with mixed levels of apprehension and respect."

"So what is it?"

"_Captain Kidd."_

Not knowing exactly how to respond, the midshipman offered only a grunt before turning back to her duties. _Mixed levels of apprehension and respect._ That she could understand. After all, several dozen ships were looking to see her back up her words and attitude with action. Like the new kid on the playground she had gotten their attention by knocking the resident bully on his ass and staring down the class intellectual. Now the rest of the pack was watching warily to see if she could stand her ground against the Tough Gang from the next block over.

Only here more was at stake than who would drink from the water fountain first.

"One-forty," her ears picked out the countdown from the _Paul Revere_.

_Back to work._ Kimber resumed her Command Voice once again. "Do we have a count on the enemy ships yet?"

"Just in! We count twelve Cruisers, six Fast Attack Ships, three Destroyers, and two Battleships with twenty fighters formed up on the lead BS," came the answer from somewhere near the rear of the bridge behind her. The tactical display zoomed out to include the enemy as the generic icons updated to type. Trajectory projections raced ahead of them like miniature phaser fire.

Kimber took it all in. _Shit_. _We're all gonna die! She_ wanted to cry, but the _midshipman_ could ill afford to. There was nowhere she could turn for even a moment to have such a devastating display. A couple of tears tracked down her face, which could be blamed on all the stuff in the air so long as her composure remained intact. She could not allow the other ship commanders to see more than that. They were barely respecting her uniform, to see the Little Girl in it would be disastrous. Yet if she turned her back to them, the cadets would see and lose it completely. _Suck it up, suck it up, suck it up!_

Suck! It! _Up!_

"Ship closest to the code-Jubilee: I want you to slap a tractor on it and push it as far from the convoy as you can on an intercept vector against the largest enemy ships. Maintain a target lock on its warpcore and blow it for optimum effectiveness.

"I want all ships on the outside to start billowing smoke from at least one nacelle if you are not already doing so. Launch any fighters and armed shuttles you can put a pilot in, but stay within the formation until instructed."

_Did she hear a few 'Yo hos' among the Ayes?_

"_Buttercup! Buttercup!" _the _Revere's_ Junior Lieutenant shouted, "Dominion fleet has increased to warp 9-_ocho_-98!" The Spanish number was faster and more efficient than saying 9.999999998. No one really knew who started the verbal shorthand, but it had been swiftly adopted by all of Starfleet. "New ETA forty-five seconds!"

Final set of commands, "Priority initial intercepts are the fighters! Ships inside the formation: You're the Ace Cards up our sleeves, don't reveal yourselves too early!

"All ships," _Give them confidence, "_See you on the other side."

Yep, definitely _'Yo hos' _instead of 'Ayes'. _More of them this time._

_Tap,_ "Bridge to Cargo Three Transporter."

"_TR/C3," _audio-only, but whoever it was sounded calm and certain.

"Everything ready down there?"

"_Aye Captain. The depth charges are set, primed and ready."_

"Drop'em in front of the largest you can target. Extra points if you can pop'em _inside_."

"_But Captain, at these speeds an arriving transport would tear through floors and bulkheads like… Riiight! Got you Captain! Extra points coming up‼"_ You could practically hear the grinning as the link closed.

Unable to think of more, the Acting Captain of the fleet sank back into her chair and waited for the death that was about to rain upon them.

Rain it did.

Not a gentle shower but a _downpour_.

First to hit them was a wave of torpedoes, which slammed into the shields presented by the conical formation of ships. Impact feedback rocked them all. Every impact lessened the overall strength of the shields, weakening most and dropping some.

On the _Fairlight_ explosions erupted throughout the ship and sparks showered all in the aux two bridge. Kimber gripped the console in front of her, trying to keep an eye on the tactical board. Status shouts from all about her tried to keep up with rapidly updating icons.

Then the Jem Ha'dar fighters were upon them. If the torpedoes were like rain, this was a hailstorm. Half of their numbers flashed around and past the formation, leaving them hosed with phaser fire in their wake. Unlike torpedoes, at speeds so close to the Warp Ten Barrier, energy weapons were only effective when fired to the sides or stern. Any directed ahead would only serve to fry the shooter the moment the beams exited the warpfields.

The other half did not deviate their flights and slammed into the strongest points of the combined shielding. Like before, the warp accelerated masses were enough to punch through without having to drop them. Fortunately most of the strongest shielding was where they overlapped _between the ships_.

Vaporized upon impact, even the weakest of shielding and deflectors protected the soft innards that was the civilian convoy from the spray of particulate debris.

"Incoming hail!" T'Shego called out, "Audio only!"

"Loudspeaker!"

A strong male voice fought against the pop and crackle of a damaged audio system, "_To … Commander of … Feder… forces, … prepare to be rendered assist.… Move ships … provide shielding cov… forces. Communi… impossible in a few mom… imperative … not fire upon the vessels … your vicinity…owledge." _

_Help?_ Kimber pounced on the connection, "This is Midshipman Possible," _Blast! Wrong rank! "_Acting Captain of the _Flagship_ _USS Fairlight_. My Officers are all dead. We lost both the Main and Flag Bridges. All we've got is Auxiliary Command._ Who are you?"_

_Mid…ible, who I …important … Officer of a group of … willing to assist. I am informing you … do not have … your current strategy … delay the inevitable … the following, Divert all … shields, and … warp cores as you intended … tain all possible distance from the Dom … between you and the enemy. Prot …nsports … applaud that …oss of all comm. Quickly inform your ships. Seven … inbound."_ With that the channel was abruptly lost as was all the fleet channels and most of the long-range sensors.

However _short-range_ was still intact. _Tap,_ "Bridge to Engineering!"

"Engineering."

"Tara, I need you to set up a modulation in the impulse engine and encode a short message for the fleet, Stat!"

"Yo Ho." _Her too?_ "Message to read as?"

"'_Aces away'!_ Set it to loop."

The blonde's cheery _Yo Ho_ was cut short from her end. Kimber blinked, unsure if all the 'Yo Hos' that were cropping up was respectful or not. Certainly it was non-regulation and the late CO of the ship, Admiral Byron, would never have tolerated it, but then she was only a cadet and midshipman so maybe it indicated a lack of respect. _Whichever, now's not the time to try and put anyone straight over it._

_Whatever happened to the ship whose job it was to destroy that code-Jubilee?_

_Tap,_ "Bridge to Torpedo Four! Target the abandoned ship's warpcore and fire!" She ignored the acknowledging _Yo Ho._ Moments later the empty ship with its already damaged warpcore split open, flashing like a sudden quasar in the path of two of the largest enemy ships. One was taken out immediately, but the other veered off in an uncontrolled spiral which took it through the thickest of its brethren, scattering the neat formation.

With regular communications down and no longer able to coordinate the fleet, there was little for her to do besides studiously monitor the tactical situation board as seven new icons streaked in from the direction of the Ch'zzri Stellar Sovereignty, which lays under the point where Bajoran, Cardassian, and Breen borders all converge. If the galaxy can be thought of as an apple pie, then the various stellar territories would be the chunks of apple, often laying partially atop or below others.

Kimber had to content herself with occasionally issuing orders to those within earshot and wherever the shipwide comms still reached. Anyone watching or perhaps reading a transcription of the bridge recorder log might accuse her of micro managing; her orders were redundant and repetitive and everyone pretty much knew what they had to do. However the midshipman intuitively knew what the cadets really needed was to hear a calm and in-control voice. Fact was, she could have read the ship's personnel roster and had the same bolstering effect.

As the crew drew strength from knowing that someone was in charge, she drew hers from watching the situation board as the new ships began to turn the tide. Like space-going piranha in a feeding frenzy, the little school of icons would swarm about one of the Dominion attackers not floundering from the fleet's own counter-attacks and strip it down to nothingness before moving on to their next meal.

Yet they were not the only fish in this pond, for nearly as one three _Defiants_ – _the ace card ships_ – suddenly emerged from the curtain of smoke billowing from numerous nacelles as if the convoy gave birth to them. Like hungry newborn sharks they joined the feeding frenzy, belching up sprays of phasers and about a dozen torpedoes each against the remaining Dominion forces, including a couple of destroyers that nearly gained the upper hand on the Ch'zz.

Then just as suddenly as it had begun less than twelve minutes ago, it was over. The last of the Dominion icons winked off the TSB. A minute later whatever the Ch'zz did to knock out communications was undone and the command and secondary channels snapped back to life. Until the bedlam of the extra dozen overlapping voices again filled the bridge, Kimber had not realized how much she missed them in those brief few minutes.

She sat back into her seat with a long shuddering sigh that seemed to go on forever until she felt the brief pinch of a hypospray against her shoulder. Rona's brown eyes met her questioning gaze. "An adrenalin booster. You can't afford to crash now. We still need you at your peak," the Trill stated matter-of-factly before moving on.

As renewed energy flooded her bloodstream and kicked the base of her brain, Kimber nonetheless wondered, _There's more??_

Plenty more as it turned out. The civilian convoy had to be tended to. Overlooked during the urgency of defending all their lives, now it was time to take count of their damages and casualties. Hit just as suddenly, yet much harder for lack of military-grade shielding, they took a devastating loss of nearly a fifth of their ships. Assessments were made of both convoy and fleet. Which ships could be repaired, which in need of scuttling. Until help could arrive Kimber mobilized rescue and repair efforts for both.

Eventually reinforcements from the 16th fleet arrived to support the effort. Things proceeded smoothly as the midshipman had already seen to – _heavily delegated_ – everyone and everything prepped to get back on their way. Crews, passengers, and resources were redistributed and ready to roll. Ships were repaired or abandoned, the flagship among the latter. With a heavy heart and touch of dread, the acting captain had ordered _Fairlight_ abandon ship just before hailing the Ch'zzri vessels to express her appreciation for their timely intervention.

The rest of the bridge crew was already gone, leaving Kimber's quad the last ones waiting to be beamed off the _Fairlight_. Now it was their turn. As Rona Stop finally tended to the cut on her head, Tara moved from console to console. The airy blonde had joined them to do the same for the auxiliary bridge as she had tasked her engineering staff to do throughout the rest of the ship – ensure that all existing self-destruct charges were primed and set, and the computer's redundant backup cores wiped. They _were_ still in enemy territory.

Starfleet did not expect a commanding officer to either go down with their ship or be the very last one off it, in point of fact Standard Operational Procedure directly spoke against it, but it was still a tradition widely held to. Since she expected this to be her last time in command of anything – _you relieved a superior officer and _threatened _him!_ – Kimber was determined to squeeze the experience dry for all it was worth.

From behind her T'Shego placed a hand, meant to be comforting, on her shoulder as the redhead gave her classmates a weak grateful smile for their support and unspoken decision to remain at her side even as the transporter whisked them away and deposited them into a typical Starfleet transporter alcove.

A medical officer scanned them with tricorder and sensor as four armed and armored marines smartly snapped to attention and stepped forward. While smudges were evident on the whites of their battle uniforms, it was apparent that they had made an effort to polish the worst of the scuffs and scratches from their black shock pads and helmets. Once the medic gave a perfunctory nod, the detail leader took another couple of steps and sharply barked, _"Midshipman_ _Possible,_ you and your quad are to accompany us. Please."

Kimber exchanged glances with T'Shego, who shrugged. 'Please' was not something you normally heard when being arrested. _Time to face the consequences_. Since the marine was a huge specimen she only stepped forward, not yet wanting to relinquish the precious extra height the alcove afforded. Even so she still had to look up past a barrel-chest to lock her olive-colored eyes with his hard steely gaze.

_What is he? Six-foot-_twenty_-something_? Kimber drew up her chronically petite frame and threw her shoulders back, "I stand ready to go with you Major, but they were only following orders and should not have to share in my fate."

Something – _respect?_ – flickered in his eyes too fast for her to catch. He barked again, "My orders, _Midshipman_, is to retrieve _all_ of you. You _will_ accompany us."

"Of course Major. We're at your disposal…," she flinched with her own choice of words. Stepping down, the others followed suit.

The detail squared up on them at all four points and executed a smart left-face to march them out of the room and down the corridor. Moving with them but eyes to the floor, Kimber would not have noticed anything had T'Shego not nudged her. That was when she saw _them_.

The corridor was lined with crew standing almost shoulder to shoulder, many adorned with burns, smudges, cuts, and scrapes. More than a few were bandaged or had some limbs in slings. Everyone stared at them with varied expressions. Some grateful, some scowling, some simply astonished. About mid-way down the corridor's length it started with a single clap. Followed by another, then a third. Quickly picked up by others, soon all that could were clapping while the rest banged one good fist against the bulkheads behind them.

By the time they were led into a turbolift it felt as if the entire ship rang with the applause. Voice commands were evidently down because instead of stating their destination the major keyed it into the car's opened control panel access. The lift sped along smoothly and in short order the doors swished open. _That was a short ride to the brig._

Only the brig was not what waited for them.

The marine stepped out ahead of them, then to one side revealing a fully staffed Flag Bridge. "Major Barkin and Honor Guard reporting with _Quad Possible_ as ordered_, Sirrah!"_ he said in Parade Voice. A bosun's whistle – a real one, not a recording – sounded _Welcome Aboard_ as all on the bridge, including the Vulcan commodore in the Center Chair, stood to attention _and saluted!_

Kimber blinked. _Starfleet doesn't salute_. Then a factoid bubbled up from her eidetic memory; _correction, Starfleet doesn't _require _saluting, but on occasion its used as a display of respect. _

It took her a moment to reel in her surprise enough to remember proper protocol to the whistle. Though normally performed at a point of arrival such as transporter room, shuttlebay, or docking port, a 'welcome aboard' required…

"Request permission to come aboard!" She returned the salute with the same degree of sharpness they were given. She felt her team do the same behind her.

Commodore Stenn, she had taken the time to look up his name just before the second attack wave hit, stepped aside and gestured to his seat. "Permission granted, Mr Possible. Your bridge, the fleet and convoy await your further commands." He was not the only one. The officers manning Ops, Engineering, and one of the auxiliary stations each proffered their positions as well.

Still not fully certain of the appropriateness of it all, the midshipman nonetheless nodded over her shoulder to her classmates before stepping onto the bridge itself. As the cadets headed for the vacated stations about the bridge; T'Shego to Ops, Tara to Engineering, and Rona to the auxiliary. She moved to the center and stood before the command chair. It loomed huge compared to her petiteness. There was a lot of weight to it, not all of which was _physical _mass. Turning to Stenn she asked in a low voice she hoped only he would hear, "But, why sir?"

Serious eyes held her steady. "Even without the unexpected intercession from the Ch'zz, it was your strategy that saved us all… ."

"But… ."

He held up a finger to pause her, "As I had pointed out, the formation you ordered was illogical. However my assessment as to its efficiency was in error. Had I been in command I would have chosen a different distribution of ships and resource allocations. I would have ordered the strongest more capable ships to the forefront… ."

"But… ."

Finger; "It would have been the most logical thing to do, however not the correct thing. Those ships would have been rammed right away and we would have taken much heavier if not total loses. It was your insights that protected both the convoy and our… ace cards… behind the combined mutually reinforced shields of the rest. You also ordered artificially generated nacelle spillage to augment the damaged ones, thereby enhancing sensor inhibiting 'smoke screens'.

"As reluctant as my people are to admit it, your race continues to prove that sometimes the least logical solution is the most logical one. You definitely proved that today. It was your composure that re-grouped within minutes a seriously decimated and confused fleet back into a cohesive unit. Your grasp of command differentiated the handling of querulous and querying officers. Your swift and decisive orders carried the hour. You may not be aware of it, but your innovative use of the cargo transporter was overheard and adopted by other ships similarly impaired. I know I would not have thought of it. Most impressive.

"When the _Fairlight_ went offline the SoC shifted to this bridge. It is fitting that you retain the Chain of Command and take us home." He stepped back to the 'Exec-Stop' position and lifted his voice, "Computer," _Chirp,_ "Add Midshipman Possible to command recognitions. Grant Midshipman Possible Acting Captain status. Transfer command to Acting Captain Possible. Acknowledge." _Chirp chirp chirp_.

"The ship and the fleet are again yours, Captain Possible."

The solemnness of the moment was partially tarnished by the fact that Kimber had to do a little _hop-spin_ to get her butt in the Big Chair, yet the second she did so the entire command crew except the cadets shouted:

"_CAPTAIN KIDD! YO HO‼"_

* * *

**Notes**: Before I started writing Kim Possible, I wrote Star Trek fics. Mostly for my fan group and a few others on AOL. Proof that ST was my first love can found in that I knocked this off in a day, with an additional day to proof and polish it. So, since it's burning a hole in my harddrive… thought I'd go ahead and post it.

Despite the number of fics posted before this one, this was my first written, so you may feel these characters a bit… off. Part of it is also that this opening hook was more about the action than the backstory of Kimber's Quad. That's slated to come in future installments. I had this storyline already mapped out and this part written when I came across **MrDrP**'s _Kim Possible: The Next Generation_. Give it a read if you haven't already, tell him I said "Hi!" The awesomeness of that story cause me to set this storyline aside, but I was convinced to post it anyway.

This is NOT a fusion. Kimber Leann Possible is NOT Kim, but is in fact her distant descendant. Don't ask me who our KP married and all… s'not really germane to this era. Same with all the others unless I specifically state otherwise. Every so many generations the Fates regroup the character archetypes together ala _Rewriting Histor_y.

I'm not certain if this will be a One-Shot, or will continue. I certainly have plots to carry this further, and KiGo is at its heart. It really depends on the interest this one gets. Would you like to see more? Drop me a review with a KiGo or a NoGo.


	2. Lucky Starr

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Kim Possible or any of the related characters or property. They are owned by Disney and Mark McCorkle and Bob Schooley. Star Trek and related characters or property was created by Gene Roddenberry and now owned by Paramount. The treatment of these **descendants** of Kim Possible and Company, and any new characters, property, or technology shown or mentioned belong to me and can not be used without permission. Okay?

**Starshipped Kigo  
**System of Command

Chapter Two – _Lucky Starr_

_Starfleet Academy  
__About five months ago…  
_-------------------------------

Heinz Demenz stormed his way past the objecting Caitian aide and into Saavik's office, who looked up at him with the serenity only a Vulcan – or a canary-fed cat – could project. She took in his livid Deltan features and calmly nodded a dismissal to M'murr. She put down her stylus, leaned back, and steepled her hands in a gesture reminiscent of Spock of Vulcan.

"Professor, I anticipated your arrival."

For his part, Demenz took a moment to collect his composure. The current Academy commandant, Commodore Saavik was someone to tread carefully about. Considered a Triple Threat, she had been trained by three of Starfleet's most legendary officers. Were she a sword it could be said she had been _shaped_ by then-Captain Spock, _sharpened_ by Admiral Kirk, and finally _honed and tempered_ during her years with Captain Sulu. Plus if the rumors of her being half-Romulan were true then her core material was even harder than most Vulcans.

Still, though retired from active duty, Demenz was himself a Rear Admiral and therefore able to look a Flag-level Officer in the eye stare-for-stare. He waved the PADD in his hand at her, "Anticipated me, eh? Zhen I zuppose you already know vhat I vant to talkink about!"

"You have encountered Cadet First Year Tara Starr."

"Vrong! I just met…," he blinked several times. "I mean, ja, I've jest had her ein mein class. You are avare zhen zhat her beink here has to beink zee meeztake! Have you zeen her curriculum? It'z an abzolute joke! _Bachzeat Piloting? Vilderness Zurvival Skiencare?_ Zome-vone mast have hacked zee mainframe… ."

Saavik cut him off with a hand gesture for him to take a seat. As he did so she responded, "I am indeed aware of Ms Starr's¹… _eccentricity._ I assure you she is not here by mistake."

"Zhat's abzurd! Zhe spent most of mein dissertation staring off into space und blowing zee bubblegum whislt twirling her hair vith a finger. Zhe never vonce looked at her note-PADD much less took any annotations!"

A serene nod of head. "Did you ask her any questions?"

"Jest vone. I asked her: 'how vould you handle varp engines vhat become dangerous'."

"Her response?" Her gaze revealed nothing.

"Zhe zaid: 'vith _varp cowbouys,_ D'uh'; und actually volled her eyes az iffen zee enswer vas obvious!" While some of the heat in his face had begun to drain away, that memory returned some of the flushness. If he had been expecting the commodore to leap upon the illogic of the answer, he was mistaken.

She was not at all taken aback. "Cowboys. Versus 'engines', being homonymous with 'Injuns', the Terran slang for Southwest American Indians?"

He pointed a finger at her and accused, "You know about her!"

"Indeed. I take it you didn't bother to access the results of her Entrance Aptitude Exam."

Frowning, the diminutive Deltan thumbed a series of quick commands into his PADD. He studied the resultant screen for long moments. Zhi… zhis cahn't be vight! zhese figures ein Zheoretical Varp und Qvantum Mechaneeks are aztranomical! No vone has eiver scored zhis high, eiver. To have scores liek zhese zhe'd have to be a genius. Nein, a… a… ."

"I believe the word you are looking for is 'savant', Professor. More precisely, an 'idiot savant'."

"Zhe gurl has less common zense zhen a Deltan fruitfly!"

"What is the truism about one sense being deprived another is improved?"

Demenz was beginning to suspect Saavik was not only enjoying his discomfort in the demeanor peculiar to Vulcans, but was stringing him along in the joke, "Now hold on, zhat doesn't apply to Common Zense, it'z not liek beink blind zo your hearing gets zharper… ."

"Why not? We may not count 'common' as one of the typical humanoid senses, but lack of it in a primitive individual lowers a species' chances of survival and therefore any contribution to the collective genepool generally gets weeded out." Her eyes were lowered, and Demenz had the distinct impression that she was laughing on the inside.

"Butte a zharpened avareness of varp zheory? Zhat has no value ein advancink the development of a spec… ," he slowed as he considered the interstellar super-society in which the United Federation of Planets not only existed, but thrived through expansion. Either his face revealed his train of thought, or it was not a new one, for Saavik was nodding sagely.

"T'Skylr of Vulcan, Albert Einstein, Stephen Hawkings, Zefran Cochrane, Richard Daystrom…," she stopped when she ran out of the fingers she had been ticking off the one hand. "More functional than an autistic, she nonetheless has a quantifiable innate percipience of Universal Uncertainty," she sat up, spun her chair around and keyed something into the file-replicator. A notebook took form on its modest shelf. The commandant picked it up and, with a measure of reverence, proffered it to the engineer.

Taking it, Demenz observed that it was old, ratty, and overused. _Loved_ was the term that flashed to mind. Even as he opened it he asked, "Und zhis iz?"

"One of several of Ms Starr's daybooks as she calls them, 'journal' being too generous for it, as would 'sketchbook'. 'Scribble pad' would be more like it. She filled this one when she was seven."

Flipping the pages, Demenz saw countless doodles normal for a child that age. Cloud-like swirls of low-laser-burned 'ink' abounded with flowers and puppies and all the other things that Little Girls Were Made Of. Shaking his head, "Nothink vemarkable about zhis, ein fact zee vone time Ztarr picked up her ztylus it appeared zhe vas doodling as vell."

"Take a closer look," Saavik gestured with her chin, a light in her eyes, "I'll give you this hint. Subtract the cute animals and flowers."

After throwing a skeptical glance her way, Professor Demenz opened the book to the largest scribble, a two-pager that centered upon unicorns and cupids. Slowly he let go of his preconceptions and one by one mentally erased the fantasy elements as instructed. What was left was a huge mass of swirls, whirls, and spirals. For long moments he allowed the hand-stylused etchings to sink into his mind. He turned the notebook around, looking at it from all sides. Nothing.

Then just as he was about to give up, it happened. Something clicked into place and like an optical illusion that suddenly made sense, so did the drawing:

"A varp field interpretation…," he whispered so low even Vulcan ears barely heard it. He flipped the page to the next 'doodle', "…Heizenberg's Matrix… ." He flipped faster and faster, each page leaping out at him now that his visual perception had acclimated, until he stopped cold and held it up for her to see. "Iz zhis vhat it looks liek?"

Saavik nodded, "A nested warpfield."

"Knot jest a veprezentation of vone varpfield inzide an-udder, zhis iz a cohmplete construct! A zingle contiguous varp matrix! If zhis could being actualized ve could break zhe Varp Ten Barrier; revolutionize zhe Varp Scale‼"

"Indeed."

"Zo," he sat back, rubbing his chin-strap bearded jaw. As pure-blooded adult Deltans lose all hair at puberty, even that small amount marked him as having some human blood in him. "I'll vill eventually be havink her azsigned to mein new StarCORE?"

The Vulcan slowly shook her head, "I'm afraid not. Despite her untapped potentials, the _Starfleet Corps Of Revolutionary Engineers_ is probably the last place she needs to be placed."

"Und vhy iz zhat?" Funny, the thought of not getting access to this natural prodigy was now angering him nearly as much as had the thought of her in Starfleet in the first place.

From somewhere under her desk, Saavik pulled out a small palm-sized device and slid it across to him. "I'm sure that you recognize this item."

Demenz nodded without even picking it up, "Ja, a '_mein_PAD', zee ceevilian version of PADDs marketed usually to zhe under-tween crowd. Even zhough zhey have edvance computational capacity zhey generally geit uzed for muzik ztorage und playback."

"Indeed. What is SOP regarding possession of these type of devices on Academy grounds?"

"No ceevilian devices are ellowed because of zee zensitive nature of everything here, butte zhanks to zee Perzonal Property Protection Act ve can only confizcate power modules. Ve can no longer take entire devices," he answered with a sneer.

She gestured for him to pick it up, "This is a replication of Ms Starr's myPAD. As you mentioned, the Three-P Act only allows us at best to replicate personal property unless there is proof of treasonous activity. We borrowed the original from her shortly after her home period instructor confiscated the p-mod. It was working again."

Intrigued, he picked it up and could tell by heft alone that the module was missing. When it failed to turn on he turned it over. The power module was missing but there was something in its space. Giving it a closer look he saw it was a series of metallic threads stretching about and between the contacts in a peculiar web-like pattern. "Vhat's zhis?"

She stared back at him evenly, "Exactly what we asked. She said, and I quote: 'I had nothing to power it with', end quote." She fell silent as the engineer absorbed it.

Slowly the front of his brain felt as if he had tried to swallow a huge mouthful of iced _smilké²_ and a chill ran down his back. "N-nothink to power it vith… nothink… to… power… Zeero-Point Energy!??"

"That is the consensus."

"Can't be!"

"I assure you, Professor."

"Zhen vhy izn't it vorking now? Zhis iz cohmpletely dead!" He shook the myPAD at her as if proving his point.

The commandant at least had the good graces to drop her eyes, lean forward, and cover her eyes with her hand. Had she been human Demenz would have said _headache._ "For some reason whatever she does does not survive the replication process. We can not duplicate it."

"Are you telling me zhat vith a couple inches of thread zhat… zhat… dim-watted slut-in-training vhipped up a ZedPeeEm collection array, und you can't duplicate it??"

"Please Professor. While _we_ can not duplicate it, _she_ usually can."

"Usually?"

"You know the Siberian research facility?"

"Zhe vone completely destroyed by zee violent explosion lest ye…," his voice dropped again. "Nein, not… _her?"_

Without lifting her head she nodded, "Fortuitously we listened to more pessimistic voices and relocated her there to weave a ZPE web to power a standard holodisc player, the building evacuated save the lead scientist. This image is from the moments immediately following the incident…," she activated the desk's holo-imager with her other hand.

Leaning forward Demenz saw the blast area where the doomed facility had stood. It was as he had seen on all the newsfeed coverages. The entire fifty thousand square-foot building built to Starfleet's specifications, meaning it should have survived anything short of a warpcore breach, had vaporized in the blink of an eye. The surrounding desert had fused into glass, scorched pressure lines pointing to the center like a bizarre bullseye. Only _this_ picture never made the newsies.

Everything was as on the feeds except for a two meter circle of flooring and its understructure, which apparently was incomplete as the circle of floor teetered precariously. Atop it was a small work table on which sat a civilian-grade holodisc deck, both blackened. Next to it stood Tara, her arms still outstretched toward the player, and another scientist with a tricorder in his hands recording everything. Heavy smudges stained their uniforms and skin from their brush with death, her eyes almost impossibly wide and blinking rapidly in surprise. Her mouth moved once.

"Zhey're still alive! How?"

"Zero-Point Energy. They were at the zero-point… ."

"It looked liek zhe spoke. Vhat did zhe zay?"

"'Oopsie'," Saavik's voice cracked. "She later said she was nervous."

Demenz spontaneously forgave Saavik that brief display of emotion. "Et least zee tricorder zurvived. You mast have gotten zome great scans from zee log."

"No. The tric was erased at the component level by the resultant subspace-EMP. Best we have is what the orbital drydock managed to get. A brief temporal pulsation at the moment of occurrence."

Something had been nagging the back of his mind, but with the word 'temporal' the chill that had earlier run down his back was now chased by dread, "Ziberia. Explosion. Temporal component… ."

"We may finally have an explanation as to the cause of the mysterious explosion of 1908," She looked up, her composure back under firm control, "So you see, it has been deemed safer to follow her as she goes about her life letting her do things without trying to prompt anything specific. So no, StarCORE cannot have her."

Nodding, Demenz stood up and headed out slowly. He stopped in the open doors and turned back, "Vone further zhing… ."

"Yes, Professor?"

"Zhe's listed az on zee Engineering Track, yet zhe vears Science Blues."

Only a Vulcan could deliver the answer with a straight face while mimicking Tara's _Galley Girl_ speech: "Blue makes her eyes, like totally, stand out. _D'uh."_

* * *

_Footnotes:_

¹ Ms – While 'Mr' is used to address Starfleet Officers regardless of gender, 'Ms' remains a standard female honorific in most other uses

² Smilké – A type of synthetic milk tolerable by 99% of all lactose intolerant individuals and races; often flavored, frothed, chilled, and served like a milkshake or ice cream. Born of a typo by the late **Angel Swan** many, many, many stardates ago in the AOL member chat room _Ten Forward Lounge._ Many a great products and terms were the result of TFL-typos. Look for more in these pages to come…

* * *

**Notes:** A brief peek at the history of Tara Starr.

This is a little short because it came about as a challenge on the KP Slash Haven as "Write a KP story in thirty minutes". The only way I could rise to the challenge was to slip back into my Star Trek roots – which ironically enough was the cause of my recent crippling shot to my Inner Muse'ical Creative Flow – and yet allowed my creativity to again flow. So I revisited the backstory for Tara and her engineering potentials. I guess this means if not the next installments are about the individual members of Quad Possible, each will get their spotlights between the major action chapters.

Yeah, I know Deltans have not been depicted as having German accents, but Rear Admiral Professor Demenz is not full-blooded Deltan either, as his signature beard indicates.

For the record, this version features minor edits and corrections in punctuation and spelling performed after the challenge's 30 minute submission deadline.

Oh. Also **For The Record:** This is **NOT** the _Rebooted Star Trek Universe._


End file.
